I Wish Not to Remember
by contradictory-komodos
Summary: Austria returns to his former residence and finds a picture that causes painful memories to come flooding back. AusHun. Rated M for smut in future chapters.


A voluminous storm rolled into the small town on precocious fox's feet, growing like a child: rapidly at first, booming with thunder and flashing with lightning, then steadily, showering the late-night market-goers as they scurried towards their homes and into taverns, in search of shelter from the storm.

A lone man in a dark purple trench coat walks the soaked cobblestone road, caring not about the drenching rain that threatens to drown him. He walks, not towards one of the taverns or towards the neat row of homes on the lane to his left, but towards the house on the hill that sits in the far horizon in front of him. Years of war and suffering have worn him down, as he trudges through the flooded streets with the grace of an elderly citizen. He may as well be one, as he's lived through so much for so long. Only his youthful appearance masked his true age, and all that he had gone through due to it. He sighed. The house was so far away, and he was already weary.

By the time he had reached the top of the hill, the rain had quieted into a slight drizzle. The man looked up at the house standing before him. It had been so long since he had lived here; perhaps 90 or even 100 years had passed since this house had been occupied. Since its abandonment, ivy had grown freely on its walls, and mold and mildew thrived in the darkness of the home. Though it had once been an alluring and eye-catching residence, its charm had long since eroded away into a ramshackle building that even a lowly peasant would refuse to dwell in.

Despite this, the man, who was accustomed to class and a finer lifestyle, proceeded to enter the building. He had brought a key that he hoped would fit the lock, but the door simply creaked open when he touched the knob. He had left in haste all those years ago, and wasn't surprised that he had failed to lock the door.

Upon stepping into the house, the intruder could see that the inside of the house had fared no better than the outside. Almost all the furnishings had been overturned were now coated in a thick layer of dust. China had once been displayed on shelves on the wall, but the shelves, covered in dust like all else, were now bare. Perhaps the house had been looted after the war by the desperate, looking to sell on the black market in hopes that they could fulfill the hunger of their family, affected by the war.

The man turned from the depressing scene and turned his attention to the rotting stairs. The stairs looked dangerously unsafe to climb, but for some reason, the intruder felt drawn to whatever was up there. Cautiously, he planted a foot on the first step, then the other foot on the next, then began to ascend. The stairs creaked with his weight and threatened to buckle each time he set his foot down. He reached the top of the steps and walked into the room nearest to the stairs.

Ah yes, he remembered this room well. The moth-eaten sheets with tiny roses and faded maroon wall-paper were just two hints that this room had once been his. Once upon a time, he had fell asleep here to the sound of cicadas and moonlight, and was roused by the chirping of birds and the rushing of water in a nearby river, now almost completely dried up. It was here that he and his wife spent their first night as husband and wife, whispering sweet nothings into each others' ear as a cool breeze swept in through the open window. Such memories had long since haunted the man, waking him at night from his slumber in a sweat. He sighed and sat down on the bed, weary from his journey. However, something on the bed-side table caught his eye.

If there was one thing the man wished to forget, it was his past. It had been so dark; filled with misery and suffering. He had been married and divorced many times, and had fought too many battles to count on the fingers of his two hands. And with the picture on the bed-side table, he could do all but forget about the past. The photograph was taken a bit before the time that he abandoned the house, perhaps a decade before the war. In it was himself, camera-shy as always, looking down, away from the shutter. His old enemy-friend stood to his left, laughing at how timid he was. And to his right was his former wife. She was smiling and holding his hand, without the worry that she had in her face nowadays. The photo is worn, smudged and crinkled from age. The intruder's warm brown eyes glistened with tears.

The man took off his glasses, not that he needed them anyways, and wiped his eyes. He couldn't bear to cry over something that occurred so long ago. It was impossible that he even considered it. He had his people to look after, a country full of problems to mull over, and centuries ahead of him to look forward to, for he was the country of Austria.

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Okay, so that was the prologue of this fanfic thing. Please review and like or follow or whatever. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

This was my first fic, so it's not as nice as I wanted it to be. Hopefully I'll be able to update soon!


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